Chapter 6 Never Quiet
Rhea POV
The barracks of Haven-9 always smelled like sweat, metal, and bread.
Not a bad combination, considering most of the world reeked of ash, blood and fear.
The old subway station stretched wide under the city’s bones, long platforms turned into bunk rows. Cracked tiles gleamed with moisture, and the ceilings were laced with pipes that hissed like tired serpents.
Lanterns and hacked generator bulbs threw gold light across the space, giving everything a constant, cozy dusk. Someone had painted “Ashes Remember the Fire” in crimson letters across the far wall, half pride, half prayer.
It wasn’t luxury. But it was ours.
Maris and I wove through the crowd of rebels, half-armored soldiers, laughing mechanics, and medics brewing something that smelled like death and mint.
The air buzzed with talk and clatter, bowls scraping, cards shuffling. For a rebellion, it felt weirdly alive.
I ducked into the Ghosts’ section, a narrow alcove curtained with old train signs and patched blankets. My bunk was wedged between two support pillars, stacked above Kessa’s. A trunk sat at the foot of it, dented but loyal. My whole life fit in that box, knives, a few clothes, and the broken compass my mother left me.
“Still breathing,” Ryn rumbled from a nearby table. He sat cleaning his blade, his silver hair pulled back, a scar bisecting one of his brows. “The Commander didn’t shoot you for insubordination? Shocking.”
I grinned. “He threatened me with rest. That’s worse.”
Maris dropped onto a bench. “She’s going to get herself killed, Ryn.”
“Again,” he said dryly.
Kessa looked up from the floor where she was stitching her torn boot. Seventeen, starved, and all attitude. “If she dies again, dibs on her boots.”
“You’d drown in them,” I said, stepping around her.
“And I’d haunt you.”
Ryn chuckled. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Wouldn’t stop me either.”
Before Maris could scold us, a familiar drawl floated from the far end of the alcove. “Ghost returns from the grave. Haven’t seen a miracle like that since I looked in a mirror.”
Eron Valêm leaned against a pillar like sin in human form, olive skin, pale green eyes, and half a smirk that knew entirely too much. His jacket hung open over a simple black shirt, the collar stained with someone else’s blood. He looked annoyingly good for someone who was probably lying to everyone he’d ever met.
I groaned. “You again.”
“Miss me?” His voice always sounded like a secret being told in the dark.
“Like a fuckin toothache.”
He sauntered closer, brushing his fingers against my arm as he passed. Cold static raced over my skin, sharper than it should’ve been. Damn him. “Still sore about our last card game?”
“You cheated.”
“I adapted.”
Maris muttered, “Here we go,” and busied herself sharpening her blade.
Eron leaned in, his eyes glinting. “You look different.”
“I got bit. Adds character.”
His gaze flicked to my shoulder, lingering just a second too long. “Wolves don’t usually leave souvenirs that pretty.”
“Neither do vampires,” I shot back, my voice low. “And yet you’ve left a few.”
That earned me a grin that could melt steel. “Fair.”
He slid onto the bench beside me, stretching out like he owned it. Everyone else ignored us, half from respect, half from exhaustion. Eron and I had a history written in stolen nights and bad decisions. We used each other the way soldiers used whiskey, knowing it would burn, but needing it anyway.
Sera appeared then, soft as a sigh. Her medic’s satchel clinked with glass as she crossed the room. “You’re up,” she said, relief lighting her green eyes. Her strawberry hair was tied back, her freckles catching the lamplight. “You should still be in bed.”
“I am in bed. Just vertical.”
She frowned, all gentle disapproval. “Rhea...”
“No lectures,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Let me check the bite.”
“No.”
“I’m serious. I felt...” she hesitated, her cheeks turning pink. “Something. When you were unconscious.”
I raised a brow. “Felt something?”
“Not like that!” she squeaked. “A pulse. A… connection. It’s hard to explain.”
Eron’s smirk deepened. “Ghost, you’re leaving psychic impressions now? That’s new.”
“Shut up,” I said. Then to Sera: “You’ve been sniffing your blood tonics again.”
She crossed her arms. “You always joke when you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
Her gaze softened. “Then prove it. Let me look.”
I sighed. “Later. Maybe.”
“Promise?”
“I don’t make those.”
She exhaled, but let it go. That was the thing about Sera, she knew when to push and when to back off. Which was more than I could say for most people.
Kessa stood suddenly. “Food run. Anyone want soup before it disappears?”
Ryn raised a hand. “If it’s still warm, I’ll trade you a bullet.”
“Deal,” she said, vanishing toward the mess line.
Ryn leaned back, his eyes half-closed. “Solen’s got you grounded?”
“Observation duty,” I said. “North sector.”
He whistled. “Easy work. You’ll hate it.”
“Already do.”
Eron tipped his head. “Commander’s worried. Maybe he should be.”
I met his gaze. “You want to explain that?”
“Not really.” He reached over, tucking a loose curl behind my ear, just to be infuriating. “But your pulse is loud enough to hear from here.”
The words landed heavier than they should’ve. My heartbeat, or the other one, thudded against my shoulder like an echo. I forced a smile. “Maybe it’s the thrill of your company.”
“Maybe,” he said softly, and the humor dropped from his eyes. “Just… be careful, Ghost.”
Ryn snorted. “When has she ever?”
The conversation dissolved into laughter, teasing, and someone passing around a bottle of home-brewed liquor that tasted like regret. For a few minutes, it felt normal. Real. Like the war wasn’t creeping closer every hour.
When the lanterns dimmed to signal curfew, Maris stretched and muttered something about getting five hours before dawn patrol. Ryn stayed behind to finish his blade work. Kessa snored like a small chainsaw beneath me. Eron lingered, of course, perched on the edge of my bunk.
“You’re not leaving?” I asked.
He smiled lazily. “Not yet.
”
“Afraid I’ll have a nightmare?”
“Afraid you’ll forget to wake up.”
“Touching.”
“Honest,” he said, his voice low. Then, quieter: “You smell different too.”
“Don’t start.”
“Not bad,” he added, smirking again. “Just… wrong.”
I threw a pillow at him. “Get out before I test my new knives.”
He caught it easily, laughter curling through the dim space. “Always a pleasure, Ghost.”
“Always a mistake, Vale.”
He left with a two finger salute and a look that promised he’d be back.
When the noise died and the barracks settled into the rhythmic hum of sleep, I lay staring at the ceiling. The old tiles were cracked, veins of moss catching faint light from a dying lantern. My trunk sat at the foot of the bed, scars and all. Home, such as it was.
Under the blanket, my fingers found the edge of the bandage. Warmth pulsed beneath it, steady, alien, and alive. The beat wasn’t mine, but it had synced it
self to me anyway.
“It’s never quiet anymore,” I whispered.
No one answered.
